A Smile a Day
by ulquiorrii
Summary: "Who cares?" "You do, stupid."
1. Every Single Day

I honestly thought ignoring him would work, but apparently, he just wouldn't quit. And apparently, he never knew when to give up.

It's annoying how he smiles like I was anything but rude to him, like he just met me for the first time and he's still giving me that sweet, introductory smile of his. It pisses me off how he pays so much attention to every word that I say, as if everything that comes out of my mouth even matters, even the constant lazy mumbling that annoys the hell out of every person I know. He finds significance in every little thing that I do, and pleasure in knowing bits of things about me. I wonder how this guy's mind works, or even if it does, for that matter.

He knows that I kind of like the class president, and that I don't really care at the same time. He should know; I've told him many times to stay out of it because it's none of his business. And besides, I emphasized, I don't really give a damn. He gave me that goofy smile of his, and I just wanted to wipe that smile off of his pretty face and shove it right into his throat.

Every day, he'd ask the same question: "Do you still like him?" I would punch him in the face and he'd laugh. It's a yes then, he'd say. But I don't really know. Maybe, but I can't really say. And I can't really think. Because his annoying smile would distract me and my knuckles would be itching to punch him again. And so the question would again be shoved at the back of my mind, completely forgotten. It's the same every single day; I have no idea how he keeps his face free of all those bruises my punches should've inflicted on it.

And when we found out that the class president likes another girl, his face was right before me again, with that annoying smile and eyes that seem to mock me, as if saying, 'You know you're mad, so come on and punch me in the face, hard!' and he just sat there, looking at me like he knew what I was thinking.

Oh, he sure did. "I heard the class pres is in love."

"I know."

"But not with you."

"Who cares?"

"You do, stupid."

I looked up to his eyes, not because he called me stupid, but because as he stared at me with those eyes that held a thousand words, he was still smiling.

And for the first time, I didn't want to erase that smile off of his face.

For the first time, I admitted that it wasn't so bad.

It's always like this, it's always so annoying. It's like he can read my mind just by looking into my eyes. _Always_.

It's his thing.


	2. Preference

I had no idea how long he was going to keep it up that soon enough, I just got tired of it.

"Stop it."

He snickered and looked at me quizzically. "What?" he exclaimed as he adjusted his position by resting his other arm under his head. I've told him so many times that the grass is dirty but he never listened. Like most people.

I gave him a sideway glance and caught him doing the same, which irked the hell out of me. I crinkled my nose in annoyance and stretched my legs on the bench, aware of their growing numbness.

"Stop. Staring."

He faced my way, amusement forming on his face. "Why?"

I paused and fixed my hair on one side. I've always hated how strands of my hair keep on blocking my face on windy days like this. That's why I never liked letting my hair down.

"I don't like it when people stare."

"Why so?"

"Because it bothers me."

"How so?"

"Because I can't stand it—do I really have to spell it out for you, Takeshi?"

I faced him with the most urgent and serious expression I could ever manage, but then there he was, staring at me like I was some sort of a joke. My hand instantly crunched the plastic cup I was holding as soon as the first bits of snicker escaped his mouth.

I grabbed a book with one hand and was about to smack him on the face when he suddenly sat up and grabbed hold of my wrist. In an instant, his face was right before me.

I instinctively drew my other hand back and slapped him on his cheek, which caught me by surprise as well. Oh, the things reflex does.

I was about to apologize when he looked at me weirdly. "That'd sting!" he said, letting out a soft laugh as he rubbed his cheek.

I felt my cheeks getting warm and frowned at him. "It was your fault."

"Eh? What did I do?"

"It's 'cause you caught me by surprise."

He laughed again. He had an amused glint in his eyes.

"It's too bad my staring bothers you," he said.

I adjusted my position on the bench and tried to fix stuffs. "Everything you do bothers me."

"Ha-ha, that really hurts, you know."

"Oh, I'm glad it does." I didn't know why I glanced at his face swiftly. Of course I was sure he wouldn't think I _actually_ meant it.

I opened my book and tried to focus on the words hard, but his movements kept on distracting me. He positioned himself such that his back was resting on the tree trunk. After a few seconds, he sat still and continued to face me.

I rolled my eyes as I looked at him, wondering why on earth he just wouldn't let me focus on what I was doing. Sure enough, he was still smiling. _That idiot._

"What now?" I said with as much animosity as I could manage.

He shrugged, "I was only staring at you."

"Why won't you stop staring at me—"

"Because you look different."

I stared at him for a moment and tried to make sure I heard him right. "What?"

"You heard me," he continued, his eyes squinting, as if examining something. "You kinda—just kinda—look different today. Sort of."

I continued to give him a quizzical look. I was growing tired of this game by the second.

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I meant _good_ different."

In one movement, he crossed the short space between us with his long legs and squatted beside my bench. He continued looking at me for a moment and finally spoke:

"I'm not sure; maybe it's the hair."

I snorted. "What about the hair?"

"Hm. I think it's got some extra-shine, or something. Or maybe it's just the sunlight. Oh, and the way the wind carries it is amazing."

I squinted my eyes. "Huh?"

He chuckled, "Aha, maybe you had your hair treated yesterday without letting me know."

"I haven't had my hair treated my entire life, for your information. And even if I'm going to, why the hell would I inform you?"

"Oh, I know. It's the eyes, after all!"

"Now what?"

He smiled, that same smile that he gave me after he told me that I care about the whole class president thing. That smile that wasn't _exactly _annoying. Add it to the way he was looking at my eyes.

"Have your eyes ever been like this?" he suddenly asked. I was sure it wasn't a whisper, but the way the wind blew past us made it seem like one somehow.

"Like what?"

I tried to look steadily at him.

He leaned back a bit, his hands supporting his body from behind. His gaze was still fixed on me. "I don't know—" he looked away in a moment, searching for a word.

"—pretty?"

I tried my hardest not to break the trance between us, but all I could manage was to look down from his gaze and looking rather dumbfounded. I was quite struggling to think of what he actually meant by that.

I didn't know why I was so affected, or why I was actually "struggling" to look for the meaning behind his words. He thought my eyes were pretty: so? It's not like he was the first one who had told me that. And it's not like he actually meant it anyway. And what would it matter if he meant it or not? For all I know, he doesn't really think of half of what he says. And did he really mean _pretty_? You know, "attractive" pretty?

I've always hated being quieted by someone. So for the sake of having to say something back, I said: "Stop joking around."

He laughed out loud. When he stopped and looked at me once again, he was back to his idiot self.

"How did you know I was only kidding?"

I felt my eyebrows twitch and I grabbed the first thing my hand could take hold of (the book I was reading) and threw it at him, which he caught with such ease.

He never got tired of laughing, this idiot.

"Anyway," he said as he stood up and patted the patches of grass off his uniform. "Baseball practice is gonna start in fifteen minutes. I better get going now."

I continued to stare at his feet as he picked up his bag and books and other stuffs he had carelessly thrown on the floor when we arrived.

I didn't know what really bothered me: that he never listens when I tell him to not be careless of his things, or that he was already leaving.

_Or that he never really meant what he said._

"Seriously, though," he called out just as when he was about to leave, turning around and smiling once again at me. "I like it when you let your hair down like that."

He smiled for one last time before walking off. I instinctively touched my hair and felt silly afterwards.

It's irritating how he can always pull off things like that.


End file.
